


Like Open Doors

by NuclearNik



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dreamsharing, F/M, Soul Bond, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:56:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29812920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearNik/pseuds/NuclearNik
Summary: She visits him in the night, in dreams so vivid he swears he feels the touch of her hands when he awakes, gasping for air and more time.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57





	Like Open Doors

Her eyes are blue.

That much he knows.

When she comes to him in his dreams, her eyes are the only thing he can make out. She is cast in shadows always, fluid and blurred, never holding still long enough for him to get a proper look. Her body flows against his like the tide, back and forth, and then she ebbs completely, lost to the inky black lurking at the edges of his sleep.

Each morning following her visits, he awakes with little more than sense memory: the ghost of fingertips sliding over his skin, a fist in his hair, teeth on his throat.

And a picture in his mind of those eyes, so deeply blue he knows if he looks too long, he'll be pulled beneath their depths.

* * *

The dreams begin to change. She still comes to him in the night, but not every encounter is as explicitly passionate.

They never speak, but their bodies do.

Sometimes they waltz in the center of a nondescript ballroom, the world around them fuzzy at the edges as they move together in a dance as old as time.

And some nights, she simply presses into his side, a spector in his arms, while they sit and watch the stars for hours in the kind of silence that feels like pulling on an old, warm sweater when the world is freezing.

* * *

It is summer in the city. The heat wilts many, but he is most alive beneath the sun.

Somewhere in the forested park nestled by a river in the center of downtown, he is brought to a grinding halt when another body collides with his. It's a woman, dark hair nearly as long as she is. She rushes out an apology, frantically gathering the books that flew out of her grasp upon impact.

He doesn't know what to say, so he helps her gather her belongings, and her bright, sweet voice thanking him affects him in a way he's never felt before.

When her books and papers are securely back in her arms, they both stand, and he sees her face for the first time.

"Your eyes." Matching words fall from their lips. She gasps, and he freezes, and they stand there staring at each other with what he is sure are twin expressions of surprise and confusion on their faces.

As if sensing his utter bewilderment, she speaks first, enough words for the both of them pouring out of her.

"I see you in my dreams."

* * *

Soulbound, she says. A rare phenomenon, two souls connected by a greater power.

They have found a quiet corner of the park, a bench on the bank of the river. Her now scuffed stack of books sits beside her, and as the sun filtering through the trees catches on her hair, turning it to golden honey, it takes everything he has just to stay focused on her words. She's dressed rather warmly for the time of year, like she's unused to being anything other than cold.

"It's a gift, I suppose, from the spirits. They bestow it so rarely it's not really talked about much anymore. But my Gran Gran, she told me stories at night, after my..." Her gaze goes soft, lost for a moment in what he knows to be the haze of remembered pain before she shakes her head once, meeting his eyes again. "She told me stories when I couldn't sleep. Tales of our tribe. The old traditions."

She's silent for a moment, fiddling with the pendant hanging from a ribbon around her throat.

"I always thought it was a myth," she continues. "But this…" 

"It's real."

They're the first actual words he's uttered. The most he'd managed were some affirmative grunts when she suggested they find somewhere to talk.

"So you _can_ speak." The corner of her rose petal mouth tucks up, humor glinting in those bright eyes.

It's difficult to muster up the energy to talk when he's so busy drinking in every inch of her, from the little blue flower perched behind her ear to the boots whose soles scrape on the cement every few minutes as she fidgets. 

He's known her for... months now, it must be, but she's never been so corporeal, a living, breathing being sat beside him.

In truth, he doesn't know what to say, doesn't have the words for what he's feeling right now, this mix of confusion and utter rightness, an ancient voice in his mind saying he was made for her, and her for him.

It's entirely too much, and he's never been good with conversation, but he tries, a deep need in him to put her at ease pushing him on.

"I'm… I found you."

She's been staring at the softly rippling water, but at his words her gaze snaps to his. "Me too," she says, and her voice is like a stream, soothing and cooling.

"I—" She breaks off, letting out a soft laugh. "I feel like I know you. It's strange, right? That I don't even know your name but we've— Well, we've… you know," she stutters, the prettiest blush warming her cheeks. 

His grin at the memory of everything their dream selves have shared cannot be suppressed as he quietly responds. "Yeah." 

He's mentally cursing himself for his monosyllabic idiocy when she twists her upper body to face him, hands fluttering up a few inches above her thighs and back down again, betraying her nerves.

"Can I kiss you?"

It's inappropriate to kiss a perfect stranger, and he can hear his uncle's voice in his ear, telling him to _always_ romance a woman before making any sort of move, but she's leaning closer and her eyes are so blue, so deep like in his dreams, and he is lost.

He cannot keep his eyes open as she tentatively presses her lips to his, soft as the brush of a butterfly wing. Slowly, he reciprocates, learning the feel and shape of her mouth.

He doesn't want to scare her by moving fast, but then her tongue traces his bottom lip and his hands are sliding into her hair, gently cupping her skull as the kiss deepens, everything else falling away until it is simply her body against his on this bench with not an inch between them.

* * *

At some point, far sooner than he'd like, they break apart to pull air into their lungs, foreheads pressed together as they each catch their breath, chests heaving in tandem.

The soft slide of delicate fingers on his cheek brings his head up, and for the first time, he doesn't flinch when someone touches his scar, her thumb tracing the ragged edge.

The pity he usually braces for cannot be found in her gaze, instead he feels her _ache_ for him, a storm of righteous anger and compassion in her eyes.

"I'm Zuko." It's the least he can offer in return for her being so open with him, and the dimples in her cheeks flash at him as she softly smiles.

"Katara," she says, and he can't help but repeat it, rolling it on his tongue, the sound melodic and strong like the person it belongs to. 

Her hand drifts from his face to gently clasp his fingers in her own.

"Would you like to have dinner with me, Zuko?"

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thank you to [weestarmeggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weestarmeggie/pseuds/weestarmeggie/works) for her fantastic alpha and beta work and just generally being the best support system when I ramble on to her about my silly ideas <3
> 
> Thank you heaps for reading! I'd love to know your thoughts, and if you're on Tumblr, come say hi to me @nuclearnik!


End file.
